Tall, Dark, and Cajun

by Sandra Hill

  “Luc,” Remy said in a warning tone.

  “Luc,” Sylvie said in a chastising tone.

  Rachel felt like sinking down into the clamshell driveway and disappearing.

  “Mind your own business,” Remy said, putting his brother in a headlock as they began walking up the steps. Over his shoulder, he cast Rachel an apologetic look. At one point, Luc’s headlock appeared more like leaning on his brother for support. She saw Remy look funny at Luc and ask a question.

  “What can I say? My husband has a crude streak,” Sylvie said to Rachel, not all that bothered. “He doesn’t mean any harm.”

  As they followed the two men up the steps, Rachel said, “I’m becoming used to the bluntness of people here. After all, I spent the morning with Tante Lulu. Nothing can shock me now.”

  “You poor girl!” Sylvie laughed companionably with her. “Has she started the bride quilt stuff with you yet?”

  “God, yes!”

  “She did the same thing with me, and wouldn’t let up ’til Luc and I were married.”

  “Remy and I have just met,” Rachel quickly pointed out. No way did she want to give the impression that she and Remy were about to become engaged, or anything close to it.

  “Really?”

  “Really. There are no marriage plans. We don’t even know each other very well. In fact, I’m . . .” Rachel let her words trail off as she realized that she protested too much, and Sylvie wasn’t buying a bit of it.

  “You’ve got it that bad?” Sylvie asked with sympathy.

  “Worse,” Rachel admitted on a groan of dismay. “And I hardly know him.”

  “Hey, I knew Luc all my life, but it felt like love at first sight once he came back into my life.”

  “You seem very happy.”

  “We are. We’ve been married four years, and I love him more every day.” Sylvie’s face glowed as she spoke of her husband, and Rachel couldn’t help but envy her that kind of relationship.

  Through her peripheral vision she saw Remy down at the end of the veranda in a serious conversation on his cell phone. Luc was sitting on one of the chairs with the youngest girl on his lap and the other two girls on either side of him. He seemed to be telling them a funny story if their giggling was any indication. The older ones kept saying, “Oh, Daddy,” but the littlest one could only manage, “DaDa.”

  While they waited for Remy to finish his call, the two women leaned against the balustrade. Rachel remarked to Sylvie, “You have a beautiful family.”

  “Yes, but this is the end of it. Three is enough for us to handle. Luc had a vasectomy this morning.”

  Well, that explained his strained walk up the steps. “On a Sunday?”

  Sylvie nodded. “He has a doctor friend who did the outpatient work in his office for him. You know men and hospitals. And, really, it’s only a minor procedure.”

  Rachel felt rather uncomfortable discussing this with a relative stranger. She’d only met Sylvie once before.

  “Don’t be shocked by my telling you such an intimate thing. Luc will be telling everyone himself tonight, trolling for pity.”

  “You’re rather young to be taking such a drastic step.”

  “Not really. We’re both thirty-seven. And, frankly, I want to share more time with my husband than I would be able to if we kept having more children. Luc offered, which saved me having to have my tubes tied. I love him for being willing to do that for me. Criminey, I can’t believe I’m confiding all this stuff in you. I used to be so shy.”

  Rachel smiled. She couldn’t imagine this warm, lovely woman ever being shy. Perhaps being married to a rogue like Luc had brought her out of her shell.

  “I hear you left a man for having a vasectomy,” Sylvie said hesitantly.

  Rachel rolled her eyes. “Are there any secrets here in the bayou?”

  “No.” Sylvie patted her arm. “I hope I didn’t offend you by bringing up a painful subject.”

  Rachel shook her head. “It’s all over now. And I didn’t leave David because he had a vasectomy. I left because he had the operation without telling me first. There’s a difference.”

  “Of course there is.”

  “It’s a matter of trust.”

  “Geesh! Some men are just born clueless, and then they get dumber as they get older. When it comes to understanding women, anyhow.”

  “We’re quite a pair, aren’t we?” Rachel said with a rueful smile. “A woman who dumps a man for having the Big V, and a woman who loves a man for the same reason.”

  Sylvie reached over and hugged Rachel. “I’m glad you came to Louisiana. I think we’re going to be good friends.”

  “Hey, y’all, the crawfish are ready,” Luc called out. “Get ’em before they’re all gone.”

  Two of the little girls were already running into the house ahead of their nanny, who carried the toddler. All three of them were shrieking joyfully.

  Remy came up beside Rachel, having finished his call. He put his arm around her shoulder, tugged her against his side, and pressed his lips against the top of her head. Rachel noticed that Luc and Sylvie were watching his gesture closely, seeming to give it some importance.

  “Is everything okay?” she asked Remy, referring to his phone call.

  “It is now. Sorry to leave you for business.”

  “It’s all right. Sylvie and I had a nice talk.”

  As the four of them walked through the wide central corridor of the house and out to the back patio, which pretty much amounted to a stroll through a museum, Luc announced without warning, “I got snipped today.”

  Sylvie rolled her eyes at Rachel as if to say, “I told you so.”

  “I thought you looked different,” Remy teased.

  “I do?” Luc asked with sudden alarm and pretended to cross his legs in an effeminate manner. “Well, no wonder! Did you ever take a needle in your family jewels? Ouch!”

  “Should you be out and about?” Remy patted his brother on the shoulder.

  “I’ve had an ice pack on the family jewels all day. Lots of fun, that. And I’m wearing a scrotal supporter.” Luc glanced at Rachel sheepishly, as if he knew he pushed the bounds of polite conversation in her company.

  “He’s supposed to avoid excessive walking and lifting heavy objects,” Sylvie told them with a disapproving glower at her husband. “And, yes, he should have stayed home.”

  “He was probably afraid you might run off with some handsome devil if he left you out of his sight,” Remy commented.

  “Bite me!” Luc said to Remy with a huge smile.

  Remy just shook his head at his brother’s coarseness.

  “Stop it, you two,” Sylvie warned. “Here comes my mother. And the rest of the Breaux warrior women.” She pushed Luc down into a wooden deck chair on the patio and plopped herself on the arm, the mother hen protecting her injured rooster. Remy and Rachel stood on either side of the chair, watching the group approach.

  In the forefront was an elegant woman who had to be almost sixty but could pass for fifty or less, no doubt due to numerous plastic surgeries, collagen injections, and expert make-up. She wore her dark hair in a short bob, and her trim body was covered with understated chic in a jade green silk jumpsuit, belted at the waist. The emerald posts in her ears probably cost more than Rachel’s annual salary last year.

  “Sylvie, darling, I didn’t see you arrive,” her mother said, giving her an air kiss and a hug which involved no touching. Then she did the same to Luc, who winked at them over her shoulder, right at the moment when she said, “Luc! How nice to see you again.”

  “Mother, you remember Luc’s brother, Remy.”

  The two of them nodded at each other, barely civil. Inez’s perfectly tilted nose turned up slightly with distaste as she avoided looking at the disfigured side of Remy’s face.

  Rachel reflexively made a low growling sound deep in her throat and Remy moved to her side and grabbed onto her upper arm as if to restrain her. Rachel saw that Luc and Sylvie had notic
ed the whole exchange between her and Remy; they looked from Remy to her, then at each other, before smiling.

  “And this is his friend, Rachel Fortier from Washington, D.C. She’s a decorator.”

  Inez extended a limp hand toward Rachel in a halfhearted shake. “I use a N’awlins decorator exclusively,” she said, as if Rachel were going to solicit her for business on the spot. “I have a townhouse in Georgetown when Congress is in session. Have you done the homes of any Representatives or Senators?”

  “No, not yet,” Rachel said.

  “Anyone I might know?”

  “Probably not.” She could feel her face flaming.

  Inez immediately turned away, as if Rachel obviously couldn’t be that good if she hadn’t done any of the important people in the nation’s capital.

  It was Remy who made a low growling sound deep in his throat now and Rachel who grabbed onto his forearm to restrain him from doing something hasty, like slap the rude, condescending woman.

  The three other ladies were promptly introduced as well. First, there were Sylvie’s aunts Margo and Madeline, who owned a mail-order herbal-tea company and apparently disliked Luc even more than Inez did, if their hostile glares were any indication. Next came Sylvie’s ancient grandmother, Dixie Breaux, with her impeccably coiffed white hair. She must visit the same plastic surgeon as Inez because her face was unlined and not a liver spot dared peek into sight. Even at her advanced age, Dixie still worked as a lobbyist for the local oil companies.

  The four ladies prepared to leave them after making polite small talk, and not so polite when Inez scolded Sylvie for not keeping a better eye on her children, who were nearby scarfing up avocado dip like it was going out of style, with the nanny looking on indulgently.

  Luc did the growl thing now, and Sylvie restrained him from belting his mother-in-law by putting a forceful hand on his nape. But Luc got back at the disapproving ladies in his own way. “Did I tell you all I had a vasectomy today?” he inquired with an innocent smile on his handsome face. “Would you like to hear about the operation? It was very interesting.”

  Four senior citizens made gurgling noises of shock, and turned on their designer shoes, to leave Luc’s presence ASAP.

  “Your family is very . . . interesting,” Rachel said into the silence the followed.

  Sylvie, Luc and Remy all turned to gape at her, then burst out laughing.

  “You don’t have to be polite,” Luc said. “They’re a bunch of snobbish prigs. And I was about to drop my pants and show them my scar, too.”

  “Do you have a scar, honey?” Sylvie asked Luc.

  “Only a teeny tiny one, and it will fade in two or three weeks, but they wouldn’t know that.” He grinned impishly at his wife. “Wanna see?”

  “I think we could all use a watermelon margarita,” Sylvie said, waving for one of the floating bartenders who circulated through the crowd of two hundred of Inez’s closest friends—in other words, people who could help her career.

  “With all due respect, darlin’, I think Remy and I would prefer a cold beer.”

  “With all due respect, darlin’,” Sylvie said back at her husband, “you aren’t having anything alcoholic with those painkillers still in your system.”

  Luc made a face at his wife, then reached up for one longneck from the tray for Remy and a lemonade for himself. Sylvie and Rachel took stemmed glasses encrusted with salt around their rims.

  “Cheers!” they all said.

  “Here’s to a lifetime of sex without condoms.” Luc raised high his glass.

  “You are so crude,” Sylvie said.

  “And you love it,” Luc countered, waggling his eyebrows lasciviously at his wife.

  Rachel and Remy just watched the interplay with amusement, while Remy took a long swallow of beer and Rachel sipped at the delicious drink.

  Just then, they had more unwelcome visitors to their little circle. The infamous Valcour LeDeux and his nymphet wife, Jolie, who was a good twenty-five years younger than he was, entered.

  “First the mother-in-law from hell, then the aunts and grandma from hell. Finally, the father from hell. Can life get any worse than this?” Luc grumbled, downing the rest of his lemonade.

  “Only if Satan decides to drop by,” Remy added, also emptying his long neck.

  He and Luc reached for second beverages from a passing waiter as their father approached. “It’s always best to keep one’s hands occupied when my Dad’s around—to avoid hitting him,” Remy explained to Rachel.

  Papa LeDeux was on the back nine of his fifties, while Jolie, in her mid-twenties, was barely up to the tee. Being the mother of fourteen-year-old Tee-John, she must have been a mere fifteen years old when she first got involved with Valcour. Jailbait, for sure.

  Dressed in Boss slacks, an Armani golf shirt, designer alligator shoes, and a Rolex watch, Valcour was clearly a wealthy man. He must be one of the many people invited who could help Inez with her political ambitions, if not through influence, then through money contributions. Silver threads were visible in his black hair and his middle wasn’t quite as buff as it probably had been at one time, but he was still a handsome man, like his sons. The biggest imperfection was his flushed face, which bespoke years of excess booze.

  “How are you, boys?” Valcour said, raising a martini glass toward each of his sons in turn.

  “Just super,” Remy said.

  “Super duper,” Luc added.

  “I love your dress,” Jolie said to Sylvie.

  “Thank you,” Sylvie responded. “You look lovely, too.” And she did, Rachel conceded, and why not? She was young, slim and attractively dressed in a Donna Karan outfit that probably cost a bundle. She would have appeared almost gamine-like, except for her long blonde Texas big hair that seemed to be popular with the beauty-pageant circuit. Not that Rachel knew that Jolie was in such a mindset.

  Valcour asked Remy, “Who’s your friend?”

  Remy jolted to attention. The dolt must have forgotten about her. “This is Rachel Fortier, from Washington, D.C. She’s a decorator. And Rachel, this is my father, Valcour LeDeux, and his wife, Jolie.”

  Everyone shook hands all around.

  “A decorator? We’re going to redo our den. Maybe I could call you,” Jolie said.

  “Rachel is a Feng Shui expert,” Remy bragged, to Rachel’s surprise.

  “What the hell’s fung sway?” Valcour asked with a smirk.

  Instead of answering Valcour, Rachel addressed Jolie. “Feng Shui is a type of decorating. I’d be glad to look at your den, but I’m afraid I won’t have time. I’m only visiting Louisiana, and I’m already doing Charmaine’s beauty spa and Remy’s houseboat.”

  “You,” Valcour said, waving a drunken finger at his wife, completely disregarding Rachel’s words. “You spend too goddamn much money as it is. We don’t need no fancy-pantsy decorator to tell us we need a ten thousand-dollar couch.”

  Jolie ducked her head with embarrassment. Then, to give her credit, she shot right back, “Don’t talk to me like one of your workers over at the oil plant.”

  “For, chrissake, Remy . . .” Valcour’s attention drifted from one to the other of them without logic. He must be drunker than he appeared. “What do you need an interior decorator for in a houseboat?” He gave Rachel a slow lecherous once-over from head to toe and back up to her breasts. He snickered.

  What an unpleasant man!

  Rachel dug her fingernails into Remy’s forearm to keep him from jumping his father. He and Luc were chugging down their drinks like wanderers in the desert, probably for fortification.

  “I heard Tee-John drove Lulu out to your place last week,” Valcour said to Remy. “You better keep that bitch away from my boy. She’s a bad influence.”

  “Bad influence,” Luc sputtered, still in his seat. “The only bad influence in Tee-John’s life is you. Why don’t you hop on the wagon and straighten yourself out? After all these years, you’d be doing the world, and your family, a favor.”
>
  “You’d like me to hand you some favors, wouldn’t you, boy? Beef up that ragtag law practice of yours. Make you something more than ’The Swamp Solicitor’.”

  Luc’s face turned red with fury. Now Sylvie dug her fingernails into Luc’s forearm to restrain him from doing bodily harm.

  “Once a bastard, always a bastard,” Remy snarled.

  “Speaking of bastards, tell that brother of yours, René, that if I hear one more word from another legislator about oil pollution in the friggin’ bayou, he’s gonna find his ass in a sling, and I’ll be tyin’ the knot. Don’t think I don’t remember how to beat the crap out of any one of you boys.”

  With that, Valcour turned on his heels and staggered off, pulling Jolie with him.

  “Well, that was certainly enjoyable,” Sylvie said with a shaky laugh.

  “No blood was spilled. That’s a relief,” Rachel added.

  They all looked at her, then burst out laughing.

  “You’re right, darlin’. You’re ab-so-lute-ly freakin’ right. No blood and my Dad is an accomplishment,” Remy said, giving her a one-armed hug.

  Luc stood then, shrugging off Sylvie’s help. “Stop coddling me, Sylv. I’m not an invalid.”

  “Has anyone seen Charmaine?”

  They all turned around to see a tall man standing right behind them with a glower on his face. He was a cowboy, by the looks of him, complete with straight-leg jeans, boots, denim shirt, and a Stetson. A camel-colored corduroy blazer had been added for dress-up. He was about six-foot-three, dark haired, lean, and absolutely gorgeous. Plus, he was very angry.

  “Where’s Charmaine?” he demanded of Remy. “I’ve been looking for her for three days.”

  “Well, hello to you, too, Rusty,” Remy said.

  “Howdy,” Luc added. Then he winced when Sylvie prodded him with a sharp elbow in the side.

  Rusty made a grunting noise that was probably intended to be hello to all of them.

  “Why do you want to find Charmaine?” Remy asked.

  “I have a proposition to discuss with her.”

  Remy laughed. “I don’t think she’s interested in getting married again, Rusty.”

  “Married? Are you nuts? Is that what everyone thinks?